


Movie Night

by foodstuffs



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Hand Jobs, Kink, M/M, Pizza, Pre-hiatus, Smut, Stuffing, belly ache, belly stuffing, i have returned, with yet more kink for you all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foodstuffs/pseuds/foodstuffs
Summary: Movie and pizza nights have become a kind of tradition for the three of them.
So when Pete and Joe fail to show up at Patrick's as per usual, they soon find a way to pay him back for their mistake.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm back (not that I ever really left) with another stuffing fic for you all. I'm still surprised by how popular these seem to be, and kind of proud, because after so long of not having an outlet for these kind of stories it's nice to have an audience at last. This, admittedly, took me a long time to finish. Not to write, as such, but I've been a little caught up in school and other projects and this fell by the wayside for a short while. 
> 
> As usual, I dedicate this to my fantastic and ever-flattering enabler, @patrick-is-trohmosexual on tumblr. Without him I would never have got back into writing these, and I can say for certain that it's been fun exploring this kind of writing again :)

“Um, hey, Pete.” Patrick opened. His voice was shaking with a quiet sort of nerves.

Pete, oblivious to the whole situation, answered, “Patrick, what’s up?”

“Have you forgotten?” Patrick sighed, “It’s pizza night. Friday. Pizza fridays, Pete.”

There was a stony silence on Pete’s end of the line. Or, there would have been if Pete didn’t sound like he’d picked up the phone in the middle of a raving nightclub. Patrick could hear fuzzy speech and the low thud of music against his ear. Patrick hadn’t quite decided whether he should be sad or angry, so his head was currently swimming with a pathetic mix of both. The answer would probably lie in whatever tale Pete would inevitably spin for him by way of an excuse. 

“Oh, I thought Joe told you. We’ve had to fill in with some old bandmates of ours because their band recently broke up and they still needed to play this gig. We’re only playing one set with them, but we’ve had to set up all the equipment so it’s been kind of a long day.”

That, Patrick thought, made an awful lot of sense. Patrick was willing to believe it, even if it was Pete’s usual shift-blaming schtick. He wasn’t sad, though, but nor was he particularly angry. If he didn’t have the fear of sounding like a chastising parent, he would likely say that he was, in fact, disappointed.

Patrick looked over at the pizza boxes that were taking Pete’s usual place next to him on the bed. They ordered the same thing every week, one large meat lovers’ and one large three-cheese, and it was always enough for three of them. Two of them, if Joe was otherwise occupied, would leave them a few slices left over. A pizza and a half left in the fridge would likely antagonise his mother to their newly-built tradition, judging by how much she hated when Patrick left greasy leftovers next to her carefully-crafted salads. It just made Patrick feel bad for eating so much goddamn takeout.

Patrick sighed again, louder, attempting to get the extent of his frustration across in that one sound before he answered, “Oh, okay. Would be nice if next time I found out before I ordered the pizzas.”

“I’m really sorry, I told Joe to tell you earlier,” Pete apologised, “I’ll make it up to you, I’ll buy you whatever pizza you want next week.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and quirked his lips, safe in the knowledge that Pete couldn’t see him, “Alright, I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I don’t expect any less.” Pete assured him, “I’m sorry, ‘Trick, I’ve gotta go now.” 

Patrick said goodbye, picked up his TV remote, and stared down at the two pizzas. He was going to have a long night.

 

\-----

 

Patrick was awoken by a knock on his bedroom door. He grumbled at the disturbance and blinked the sleep out of his eyes, looking at the clock to find it was only eleven-thirty. He wondered if it was his mother reminding him to take the garbage down to the kitchen, but he figured she probably wouldn’t have the courtesy to knock. As Patrick sat up (slowly, as he remembered that, oh yeah, he’d eaten two large pizzas) he turned on the lamp next to his bed. He shoved the pizza boxes messily underneath the bedframe before he called out a response.

“Come in.” Patrick shouted.

The door swung open, brushing loudly against the bristly carpet, and it wasn’t Patrick’s mom. Nor was it either of Patrick’s siblings like he’d suspected it might be. No, it was Pete. Pete, holding a carrier bag and his guitar case, smelling of beer and sweat and giving Patrick a confident smile. Patrick’s brain was still too sleep-heavy to properly process this, watching Pete through the dim evening light with blurry eyes.

Patrick raised an eyebrow and questioned, “The fuck, Pete, why are you here?”

“We wanted to swing by after our set to apologise for ditching you on pizza night. Joe’s just parking round the corner.” Pete explained, relaxing against the door-frame and toeing off his half-destroyed chucks, “So, what’s the movie tonight?”

“Finished. It ended like, an hour ago.” Patrick answered. A little too bluntly, he thought after, and so he added, “It was Star Wars, the first one.”

“Damn it, we really missed out.” Pete answered, “Is there anything else you want to watch now?”

Patrick sighed and flopped back on his bedsheet, “It’s like, nearly midnight, Pete. Not exactly the time to start watching a movie.”

“A TV show, then. There’s got to be some Doctor Who on somewhere.” He insisted.

Patrick waved half-heartedly towards the shelf next to the television. He’d kind of been hoping that Pete would just let him sleep, but he should have learnt by now that Pete would never let him off easy, “I have the box set of the classics, go pick one and we’ll put it in the DVD player.” 

Pete dropped his carrier bag next to Patrick on the bed and went over to the shelf to rummage through Patrick’s collection. He looked at the box-art for each series before losing himself in indecision, looking back to Patrick for some guidance.

“Which one do you want to watch?” He asked.

“Any series. Knock yourself out.” Patrick answered, well aware that he wasn’t being helpful but too drowsy to do anything about it.

As Pete resumed his search through the shelf, Patrick lay back once more and tugged the covers further up around himself. He wasn’t particularly comfortable, considering the circumstances, and he couldn’t stop noticing that the room still smelled of pepperoni pizza. Pete hadn’t commented yet, distracted by a sleepy Patrick and the promise of Doctor Who. As he started poring over the Tom Baker era discs, footsteps came hurrying up the stairs before Joe swung open the door and bustled in, two more carrier bags in his hands and his mouth full of apologies to Patrick.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry I forgot to call.” He gushed, “It completely slipped my mind.”

He looked genuinely sheepish, standing awkwardly in the doorway just like Pete had done, his gaze directed fondly down at where Patrick was curled up in the duvet. Clearly the show had been a good one, what with the drink-stains on his shirt and the wildness of his hair. Both of them looked pretty roughed-up from it, probably from diving into the crowd head-first or being swallowed up by a mosh-pit. Patrick was kind of glad their band didn’t generate those kinds of crowds just yet, he appreciated the time he’d been given to start off easy. As a drummer, he wouldn’t have minded. As a singer, he was right in the firing line, as evidenced by Pete’s torn hoodie and the makeup smeared down his face.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re both here now. Even if you woke me up.” Patrick yawned.

Joe rubbed his hand across the back of his neck awkwardly, “Sorry about that, as well.”

“Don’t be.” Patrick answered, “Did either of you see my mom on the way in? Just because she’d probably ground me if she comes in tomorrow morning and finds two uninvited guests bunking in my room.”

“Who do you think let us in?” Pete replied, grinning, “She told me not to turn up so late again, but that she’ll let it slide this once because it’s a Friday.”

Joe laughed, “She loves us, man. If she didn’t we would not be able to get away with half the shit we pull.”

Patrick just smiled, shifting to the side as Joe bundled himself up in Patrick’s duvet. He was warm up against Patrick, even through the covers, and it was a comforting kind of warm. Even if he smelt like a gig crowd, Patrick couldn’t be mad at the way Joe folded himself up on top of the covers and wrapped himself around Patrick in an apologetic hug. He even petted Patrick’s hair as he pulled away, laughing affectionately at Patrick’s eye-roll.

“What are we watching?” Joe inquired. 

Pete answered from across the room, holding up the disc he’d just chosen, “Classic Who. We missed out on Star Wars.”

Joe sighed good-naturedly, “Damnit. Is there any pizza?”

As Pete sat down on the bed, they both looked to Patrick for an answer. He’d been trying to avoid the issue, if he was honest, hence why he was wrapped up in a duvet despite the warmth of the night. He really did not want to admit to having eaten two whole pizzas, really really did not want to suffer that kind of embarrassment after just having gotten himself comfortable. Even if he was a little squished and his belly was still kind of achey, it was too good to risk.

“Uh, no.” He stuttered.

Pete piped up helpfully, “Did you put it in the fridge already? I can go get it, I don’t mind it cold.”

Patrick thought carefully about his answer. When no answers immediately presented themselves, all hitting a roadblock with what he’d already told them, he tried to cycle through all the ways he could backtrack. There weren’t any, and the silence was getting awkwardly drawn-out. Patrick gave up.

“That’s not really the issue. I kind of ate it.” Patrick confessed.

Joe gave him a surprised glance, asking “Both of them?” 

Patrick nodded, “My mom wouldn’t have wanted a whole pizza in the fridge, I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joe assured him, “We bought snacks from the store just in case.” 

Pete, apparently, was still preoccupied on the whole pizza issue, and looked as if he were attempting to activate X-ray vision and stare through the duvet at Patrick. Red-faced, Patrick tried to curl up further to hide himself away and found himself caught short when his belly got in the way of his efforts. Defeated by his own discomfort, Patrick sighed and laid out flat, waiting for Pete’s inevitable opinion on the matter.

“Fuck,” Pete commented dumbly, that’s a lot of pizza.” 

“Well I didn’t say it was easy.” Patrick quipped in response.

Pete answered, “I wasn’t thinking it was. You must be stuffed.”

“Yeah, kinda.” Patrick muttered, “If I’d known you were going to show up I would have saved myself the tummy ache. You’re both staying over, right?”

Pete hummed, “Of course, ‘Trick. Might need to borrow some sweatpants, though.”

Patrick waved his hand half-heartedly, “You know where they are.”

Pete stood up again and wandered over to Patrick’s pants drawer, pulling out a pair of grey cotton sweatpants and then making his way into the bathroom while Joe got changed into the pyjamas he’d picked up from home on the drive to Patrick’s. It didn’t take Joe a moment, as Patrick’s eyes drifted shut one minute and then opened once again when Joe lifted the covers and properly snuggled up against him. Pete, however, was being a slowcoach. He only had to change out of his skintight black jeans and take off his shirt, but Patrick took a guess that he was probably rinsing his hair as well so that it wasn’t still sticky with gel in the morning. Joe, since making himself comfortable in the bed, had taken to staring at the bathroom door and willing Pete to speed up. As could be expected, his efforts weren’t taking effect.

Joe reached for the remote that had been swallowed into the folds of the blanket, “Let’s get comfy and then we can start the episode.”

“He means hurry the fuck up, Pete!” Patrick clarified.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m nearly ready. I just needed to get this shit off my face so I don’t end up getting eyeliner all over your pillows.” Pete’s voice answered, muffled through the door.

“Oh, alright.” Patrick whined, “But you’ve left a cold spot on the bed next to me. Come warm it back up or I won’t even let you in.”

“For fuck’s sakes, I’m coming, okay?” Pete called back, opening the door and then strolling back over to huddle up with Joe and Patrick.

 

\-----

 

Joe yawned, loudly, as the third episode of Doctor Who ended. Their marathon had continued far longer than Patrick had initially intended, as the clock indicated that it was nearing two in the morning, and two once snack-filled carrier bags lay empty at the side of the bed. Pete reached out for the remote once more, and Patrick was about to tell him to knock it off and cuddle so he could go back to sleep at last, but Pete merely turned off the television before shifting onto his side to face his bedmates. He looked adorably sleepy, as did Joe, the lack of light hiding everything except the silhouette of fuzzy curls and the droop of tired eyes. Joe curled around Patrick’s left side, pulling the covers close around himself. Pete, on his right, moved to do the same. However, as nice as it was to be sandwiched between his two favourite people, Patrick couldn’t help but acknowledge the discomfort of pressure on his stomach.

“Mmm,” Patrick murmured in discontent.

Pete lifted his head slightly to whisper his response, “You okay, ‘Trick?”

“‘M fine.” Patrick nodded, “Don’t worry, ‘s nothing.” 

Pete, unconvinced, pressed for an answer, “Is it your stomach?”

“Yeah,” Patrick admitted.

“How long’s it been bothering you?” Pete asked.

“All night.” 

“You should’ve said something,” Joe chastised lightly, “Maybe we can help.”

“Doubt it,” Patrick said, “It’s just bellyache. It’ll go away sooner or later.”

“But it’s bothering you.” Pete insisted, “C’mon, let us help.”

Patrick grunted unwillingly, but he still allowed Pete to shift away from his side so that he could reach down to the curve of Patrick’s belly. Joe, beside him, also sat up so that he could run his hands through Patrick’s hair soothingly. The light pressure of Pete’s hands was pleasant, at first, a little uncomfortable as he started a firmer massage. Patrick was doing his best not to make a sound, an effort to conceal the potential embarrassment he might face if he did. He knew it was inevitable; he wasn’t a quiet person. He was bound to give at least a squeak whenever Pete pressed particularly hard. Patrick could feel his stomach churning with every tiny movement. 

“Fuck,” Pete expressed, lifting his head in surprise and what could have been either disgust or maybe even awe, I can hear it.”

Patrick backpedalled at a phenomenal pace, “If it’s gross the-”

Pete interrupted, “No, it’s not, it just sounds really uncomfortable is all.” 

“Well it kind of is.” Patrick agreed.

“I hope I’m helping. Does this feel any better?” 

Pete started to trace small but solid circles into his skin of his belly and Patrick was taken aback by a moan as Joe started to kiss his neck at the same time. Damn Pete, it did feel better and Patrick was loathe to admit it. Joe’s contribution was also ramping up the heat a little and while they’d fooled around before, this was an entirely new development. He felt overwhelmed in the best possible way as the two of them played with all of his known sweet-spots and possibly discovered a couple more. His belly continued to slosh and churn as Pete jostled it about, but that feeling was quickly becoming secondary to everything else.

After a few minutes of driving Patrick to distraction, they switched around so that Joe was rubbing Patrick’s belly while Pete was kissing him and running his hands through Patrick’s hair. Fuck, the two of them taking control was more attractive than Patrick had expected, and he appreciated being cared for and coddled by the two of them as well. When they paid more attention to fussing over him than actually helping his stomachache, however, Patrick was forced to intervene.

“It hurts,” Patrick whined, “Pete- Joe- please.”

Joe, in response, pressed a little harder. Patrick moaned loudly, hoping none of his family would take notice, and Joe took this as a sign to continue. The more he played with Patrick’s belly the louder it became, giving Patrick the hiccups from all the movement. With every sound Pete changed his focus to another part of Patrick, doing his best to elicit those little vocalisations he loved so much. Patrick whined as Joe’s hands moved a little lower, again when Pete ran a hand over his nipple. 

“I think the soda was a bad idea.” Patrick murmured, stifling a burp and choking on hiccups.

Pete grinned back at him, “I think you enjoyed it, though. You wouldn’t have kept drinking it if you weren’t enjoying it.”

“I wasn’t really paying attention.” Patrick admitted.

Joe laughed, “Oh, really? How many times has this happened when you weren’t paying attention to how much you were eating?”

Patrick muttered grumpily, “More than I’d like to say.” 

“Next time you should call us.” Pete told him, his voice taking on a provocative tone, “We can come help out. We can make sure we’re prepared next time, too.” 

As soon as that image entered Patrick’s mind, he knew exactly what would happen the next time he found himself stuffed to the brim and uncomfortable. Pete and Joe driving straight over with whatever it took to be “prepared”; massage oils, perhaps, or more food. Patrick wouldn’t put it past them for them to turn up at his house with a whole hoard of his favourite snacks knowing that he was already so full that he would struggle to eat them. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a sneaky hand, whose it was Patrick had lost track of, moving even lower than before. Lower enough to stroke lightly along his dick, moving past the restrictive elastic of his boxers. All fantasies he may have been having were suddenly relegated to tomorrow’s daydreams, paling in comparison to the more visceral sensations of the present.

“Fuck, come on. Stop teasing. And give me a warning next time.”

“How much of a warning?” Joe joked, “Because you’d better be reading in about two seconds’ time.”

Joe, apparently, was a man of his word. Patrick arched his back at the feeling of Joe’s hand, though Pete was making sure he didn’t get left out either. With kisses and marks sucked along his neck and collarbone, Pete’s hands weaving through his hair just enough to feel a definite tug, it was increasingly difficult to keep track of everything that was going on. Joe was moving faster now, drawing Patrick ever-closer to the edge without ever actually letting him cum, and it was starting to become a little vexing. Patrick wouldn’t stoop to begging anymore, though, so he just did his best to ride the waves of pleasure and deprivation without cussing either of them out. Pete’s recent ministrations around his hips and sides weren’t helping matters, either, but as soon as that feeling combined with Joe’s efforts Patrick soon found himself choking back a moan as he came over Joe’s hand, doing his utmost to keep as quiet as possible. 

As soon as Patrick had relaxed back against the mattress, Joe had disappeared to find himself a hand towel and Pete had curled up against Patrick’s side, once again rubbing soothing lines down his back and sides. When Joe returned, he bought the cloth with him so that he could clean up Patrick as well, and after leaving it in Patrick’s bathroom sink he lifted the covers to let himself back in. Pete smiled lazily at them both in turn, reaching for the light switch and allowing the room to fall into a gracious and peaceful darkness.

“Thank you.” Patrick whispered.

“No problem,” Joe answered, “I know we were teasing you earlier, but we meant it. If you ever need us, for help or comfort or anything, we’ll be here. Promise.”


End file.
